Outtakes--Pictures of You
by MandyinKC
Summary: Outtakes and drabbles from Pictures of You, a KBOW story. You'll need to have read it to understand most of these.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is some random stuff that I had laying around in connection to _Pictures of You_. It's two drabbles that I wrote for practice and two outtakes that wouldn't fit into the story. You really have to have read _Pictures_ for most of these to make sense. Oh, and these are self edited, so probably not pretty. Hope you enjoy anyways!

Author's Note: I wrote this using a prompt for 50 Different Friendships or Less Challenge off of _Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. This is Percy and Oliver with a tiny bit of Katie. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: The world and characters (most of them) belong to JK Rowling. The story title belongs to the Cure. (Go check out the song if you haven't heard it already.)

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Prompt: Cry

"Oliver, you are not _crying, _are you?" Percy demanded as he stood outside the showers in the Quidditch change rooms after the match with Hufflepuff.

Gryffindor had narrowly lost, but it may have put Oliver's goal of winning the Quidditch Cup out of reach. As this was their seventh year, there wouldn't be another chance after this and Oliver was taking it hard. Although, in Percy's opinion, Oliver needed to pull it together as his Seeker was currently in the Hospital Wing having nearly been killed.

Percy strained to hear signs of life from the showers. He could hear the water running and every once in awhile there was the sound of sloshing. He surmised that his friend was still alive at least.

Percy had learned a long time ago not to utter the words _it's just a Quidditch _in Oliver's presence. Oliver took Quidditch as seriously as…well as Percy took his studies. While Percy had always been interested in the game, he could never quite work up the kind of enthusiasm for it his brothers harbored. But none of them—not even Charlie, the great Quidditch hero—possessed the kind of passion for it that Oliver had.

_Oliver's obsession_, that's what most people called it. Or they made jokes about it. Even Oliver made light of it, at least in his rare self-reflective moods. And Percy hated that. Percy admired his friend's passion, his drive. It was more than most people would know in their entire lives.

"I'm not crying."

A sopping wet—and thoroughly dejected—Oliver appeared in the door way. He was stripped down to his trousers and boots. Percy rolled his eyes, thinking of how proud Oliver had been of those boots at the start of the year. He was going to spend a fortnight complaining about the ruination of his bloody footwear.

"I'm a real arsehole, aren't I?" Oliver asked.

"No more than usual," Percy answered with an off-handed shrug.

Oliver shoved Percy in the shoulder. It had been meant as an "eff-you and the thestral you rode in on" type of gesture, but Percy still stumbled back several steps before catching his balance. A snort of laughter escaped Oliver.

"Sorry, mate," he said with a barely contained grin. "I forgot what a light weight you were."

Percy made a rude gesture.

"What would Dumbledore say if he knew his Head Boy flipped people off?"

"Since you are mocking me," Percy said, straightening his robes, "I'll assume you will not be committing suicide any time in the near future?"

"Not likely. I mean, the loss to Hufflepuff was tough, yeah. But I was thinking about it in the shower and if Ravenclaw beats Hufflepuff and Slytherin beats Rave—"

"Oliver Wood!"

The strident yell interrupted whatever convoluted Quidditch tirade Oliver was about to embark on. A red and gold fireball charged into the room in the form of little Katie Bell. She stopped short when she came…well, face to chest with Oliver's half-naked form. There was a beat of silence before the little girl looked Oliver in the face and frowned.

"Wood!" she scolded. "You are an arsehole, do you know that? Harry nearly died after that Dementor attack and where is his Captain? Drowning himself in the showers!"

"Oh, I forgot about my being an arsehole," Oliver muttered, going a bit red. "I'm sorry, Bell, I was just going to—"

"Save it, you giant git," she bit off, her ponytail flying with every word. "Get yourself dressed and march right up to that Hospital Wing before I hex you. There are more important things than Quidditch."

Percy stifled a laugh as his friend's mouth dropped open. Oliver's lips were flapping uselessly, giving him the appearance of a landed fish. Katie was still yelling at him, her ponytail still swishing.

"And if you don't visit Harry's bedside in the next twenty minutes," she shouted, "I will make sure you never ride a broom again. Do you hear me, Wood?"

"Um, yes," Oliver muttered, utterly abashed. "I'm sorry, Bell, I really am an arsehole."

Her lips folded into a line. "Well, okay, then." She spun on her heel, gave Percy a curt nod and stomped away.

Oliver was staring after the girl, his mouth hanging open again. Then, "She sounded just like my mum."

Percy burst out laughing. "Are you afraid of a fourteen-year-old girl, Ollie?"

"Shut it, Perce," Oliver growled, sloshing to his locker. "I've seen you cower before Ginny and she's…what, twelve? Girls are bloody scary."

"It's no wonder you don't have a girlfriend."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I wrote this using a prompt for 50 Different Friendships or Less Challenge off of _Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. This is supposed to be a Bill and Dougal friendship drabble, but it might be more about Dougal falling in love with Catriona for the first time. Look for sightings of Fergus Wood and a tiny mention of Oliver. Charlie gets mentioned too, but like JKR I can't ever seem to write him in!_

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Prompt: Love

It was the first Quidditch match of fourth year: Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Gryffindor was a young team this year. The team captain, Ryan McMurtry, was a sixth year Beater, as was his fellow Beater Larry Stoll. The rubbish Keeper was a fifth year, Dougal Wood refused to use the bugger's name. His kid brother at home was a better Keeper than that berk.

Dougal, himself, was a Chaser starting his third season. That made him the veteran, as his best mate Bill Weasley had only joined the team last year. The other Chaser was none other than Dougal's own second year brother, Fergus. Fergus outstripped Bill as Chaser already, which pleased Dougal to no end. Merlin knew Bill was good at everything he did, it was good to see him struggle a bit. The new Seeker, however, was in a league of his own. Second year Charlie Weasley (and one of Bill's many brothers) might just be the best Seeker Hogwarts had seen in a generation.

Hufflepuff, by comparison, was an old and seasoned team. Except for two new Beaters. A pair of fourth year lasses, no less. Dougal had played against any number of girls over the years, but never female Beaters. That position, it seemed to Dougal, was a man's position. He couldn't imagine how a girl's soft, small hands could wield the bat or how they could have the arm strength to launch the Bludger across the pitch. Sure, there were plenty of girls who played Chaser, but a Quaffle was a completely different animal from the Bludger.

As they stood on the pitch awaiting the start of the game, Bill nudged Dougal in the ribs and nodded towards the team across the field. "Look there, Hufflepuff's new Beaters. Do you recognize them? We must have Herbology with them, I reckon."

There was a short, stout blonde girl that Dougal did indeed recognize from Herbology, though he couldn't recall her name. And the other one…_statuesque._

Where the hell had that word come from? He was spending entirely too much time with Bill, that was all there was to it.

Dougal's eyes traveled to the Hufflepuff Beater again. He knew her: Catriona Campbell. Not only did they have Herbology together, but this year she was in his Care of Magical Creatures class and Arthrimancy. She was tall, very tall. She matched his nearly six feet. Every time he looked her in the eye, he was glad that he wasn't done growing yet. She wasn't skinny like the other girls their age, either. She was curvy and lush. (Shit, where did that word come from?) And she had wild red hair that looked like a forest fire and smelled like lavender. But best of all, she spoke with a Scottish brogue as thick as his own.

Dougal dragged his thoughts away from Catriona Campbell's husky voice (and full laugh and the best rack in all of Hogwarts, he'd swear to it). The last thing he needed was a hard on when he was about to mount his broom. He could think of a few things more uncomfortable, but not many.

"Yeah," he rasped to Bill, "I know them. The ginger especially."

_But I'd like to know her better._

Dougal tugged on the collar of his robes, completely missing the screech of the whistle that signaled the start of the game. Realizing the team was already in the air, he mounted his broom and kicked off. Bill and Fergus were already in the Straightaway formation that they had practiced. Dougal shot into position, panting a bit in his panic.

"What the hell are you doing?" Fergus yelled at him.

"Shut it and keep your eye on the Quaffle," Dougal shouted back. Being the big brother had its perks, and one of them was the right to boss around his little brothers. Not that Fergus often complied.

Twenty minutes into the game, Dougal had the Quaffle tucked under his arm, streaking to the goals. Bill was lagging behind, but Fergus was pacing him, playing interference. Out of the corner of Dougal's eye, he saw the Hufflepuff Beaters. He had to admit, they had impressive aim and strength for girls. They played with more finesse than the Gryffindor beaters.

Catriona slapped the Bludger into his direction. Dougal saw it coming and dropped his altitude so that it zoomed over his head by a foot. He tossed the ball to Fergus, who zigged, then flew untouched to the hoops for the score. The Gryffindors roared from the stands and Fergus-the damn show off-did a loop-de-loop before flying to his position.

"You telegraphed that one from a mile away, Legs," Dougal hollered, when he noticed that Catriona was hovering nearby.

Her green eyes flashed like lightening in a storm. "What did you call me?"

But play resumed, taking Dougal to the other side of the pitch, his little flirtation forgotten. Another ten minutes later, Bill had stolen the Quaffle and passed it to Fergus. Ferg was streaking down the pitch, dodging Hufflepuffs and Bludgers alike. With a burst of speed, Dougal streaked past his brother to play interference and clear the path.

Just before Dougal came to the hoops, pain exploded in his face. A Bludger hit him full in the face. He felt his nose bust, warm, sticky blood oozing down his mouth and chin. Tears burned his eyes. His breath left him in a whoosh. He barely kept his seat as his broom plummeted twenty feet. He managed to level out by pure instinct.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you, you great ogre!" yelled an angry, feminine brogue from above him.

Dougal could barely focus his eyes, but he could see the blur of wild red hair and yellow jumper.

"Shit, Dougal, are you okay?"

More red hair, Bill this time. He sounded concerned.

"Dougal!" That was the unmistakable voice of his brother. "Wipe the damn blood off your face. Quaffle's in play, prat!"

Dougal dragged his sleeve across his face. The pain radiated from the center of his face in throbbing waves. He gritted his teeth and blinked a few times. Right, Hufflepuff had the Quaffle. This would be a hell of a good time for Charlie to catch the Snitch, that was for damned sure. Dougal flew into play, albeit with more caution than normal.

oOo

"…can't believe you continued play with a broken nose, Mr. Wood."

Dougal sat on the edge of one of the beds in the hospital ward on the receiving end of one of Madame Pomfrey's lectures about the dangers of Quidditch and the idiocy of teenage boys. Bill stood behind her, hands in his pockets, looking relieved that he wasn't the one getting the lecture. This time. Bill had more Quidditch related injuries than the rest of the team combined.

"Well, there you go," Madame Pomfrey huffed, peering at her handiwork. "Good as new, but you'll stay in the hospital wing for the night."

"Ah, Madame, that isn't necessary," Dougal whinged. She gave him a stern look that would rival his mother and he reflexively snapped his mouth shut.

The little Healer busteled away with a harrumph. Dougal kicked back on the mattress. May as well get comfortable, it looked like he wasn't going anywhere. Bill dragged a chair over.

"That ginger Amazon got you with the Bludger," Bill said. "I think she did it on purpose."

Dougal grinned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Aye, she did and I deserved it."

"Oh?"

Dougal shrugged. "I think I'm in love."

Bill raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Should I call Madam Pomfrey over? I think she broke more than your nose."

"I'm going to marry that one, Bill, I am."

"Dougal, you are fourteen."

"You are the son of Molly and Arthur Weasley," Dougal reasoned. "Are you going to tell me your dad didn't know he was going to marry your mum when he was fourteen?"

Bill pondered this for a moment, then yelled, "Madame Pomfrey, I think you need to examine his head, he is obviously delusional."

Dougal chuckled. Let Bill doubt, it didn't matter. Dougal would marry that fiery ginger Hufflepuff one way or another. Next time he'd just make a point of sweetening her up instead of pissing her off. _That_ was obviously a bad idea.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This was never intended to be used in the story, but before I could write the chapter where Oliver finds out that his brothers died, I needed to know how they died. This is the first time I had written from Dougal's point of view and there are a lot of details in this I would have liked to weave into _Pictures_ but couldn't. This is only the pre-battle debriefing as the actual battle scene made it into the story.

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Before the Battle of Little Helga—Outtake from Chapter 6 of _Pictures of You_

Early April 1997

12 Grimmauld Place

The Order of the Phoenix headquarters was full to the brim with members milling about eating Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking and gossiping until the meeting started. It could have been a party, if it weren't, in fact, a council of war. All the witches and wizards mingling about were vibrating with anticipation.

Dougal Wood, standing in the back of the room next to his brother Fergus, was equally keyed up. But if Dougal was honest with himself, he was feeling more apprehensive than excited. He would fight You Know Who in any capacity he could, but the birth of his son made his stomach churn on nights like this. This was no simple and boring patrol. Something was going down tonight. It was in the air.

Dougal brought to mind his Muggleborn wife to remind himself why he, of all wizards, had more reason to fight than any other. The thought of Catriona and Campbell, of his family, centered him. He rolled his shoulders, ready for whatever the night would bring.

"Dougal Wood!"

Dougal was waylaid by the ball of energy that was Mrs. Weasley. She pulled him down into a fierce hug. He chuckled and returned the gesture.

"I hear you are a father now!" Mrs. Weasley said happily.

"Yes, ma'am," he reported with a smile.

"Here we go," Fergus muttered beside him. Then he took Mrs. Weasley's hand and kissed it. "What about me, Mrs. W? Am I chopped liver?"

"Don't ply me with your charm, Fergus Wood," she scolded. "I have six sons, I am immune to rapscallions like you!"

She turned back to Dougal. "Do you have pictures?"

"Of course," Dougal responded. He pulled a photo of Catriona and Campbell from the inside pocket of his robes.

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley gushed. "Look at that red hair!" She turned slightly and called, "Bill!"

Her eldest son, and Dougal's best mate since Hogwarts, dutifully joined the group. "Mum?"

"Would you look at this picture," she said, thrusting it in his face. "Look at that precious baby."

"I have had the honor of meeting the charming lad, Mum," Bill said patiently, though a grin was playing at the corners of his mouth.

"It's been so long since we've had a baby in the house," she said wistfully.

"Don't you think you and Dad are a bit old to add an eighth Weasley to the brood?" Bill asked with perfect seriousness.

Mrs. Weasley swatted his arm as Dougal and Fergus chuckled. "Oh, you!" she scolded. "I was just thinking…"

Her words trailed off and her mouth pursed as she glared at Bill. He smiled beatifically at her. A myriad of emotions crossed the older woman's face. Finally, she turned on Fergus.

"Now, Fergus," she said shrilly, taking his arm "Don't you think you are getting a little old to be going through witches like Honeyduke's chocolate?"

"What?" came Fergus' startled response, his eyes going round.

"It's time for you to put your dear mother out of her misery and settled down, dear," Mrs. Weasley continued. She had a vise grip on Fergus' arm and would not be shook off. "Really, the playboy life is no way to carry on. What you need-"

Fergus shot his brother a pleading look as he was towed in the direction of the kitchens. Dougal smirked, waving merrily.

"Well, that was a close one," Bill laughed. "Please note my mother's desire for grandchildren and the hatred of my fiancé that keeps her from pressuring me."

"It can't be that bad," Dougal said.

By the time his own mother had realized how serious he was about Catriona, Mum was already quite fond of her. The two of them got on famously, not that that was always a good thing. The last thing any man needed was to be ganged up on by his wife _and_ his mother.

"Oh, I assure you it is," Bill replied with a resigned sigh.

"Fleur's lovely. What's not to like?"

"You have seen Fleur at her best. She is comfortable with you and Catriona because she can sense that Catriona isn't jealous of her and you are not panting after her," Bill explained. "But Mum makes Fleur nervous and Fleur acts…standoffish when she is nervous."

"Cold?"

"And snobby."

"Uh-oh."

"Precisely," Bill concurred. "Mum is set against Fleur and Fleur can sense it. Add in a bit of petty jealousy from my sister and my teenaged brothers' raging hormones and you have a perfect storm."

"So, what are you going to do?" Dougal asked, glad he had never been in his friend's shoes.

"Marry her, of course," Bill replied with a grin.

"Alright! Alright!" barked Mad-Eye Moody as he stomped to the front of the room.

The room quieted as all its occupants turned to listen to the crotchety old auror.

"Charlie is getting a Howler from me," Fergus hissed as he rejoined Dougal and Bill. "If your mother wants to play matchmaker she can sure as hell harass her own wayward son!"

Bill and Dougal chuckled softly, earning them dirty looks from Hestia Jones.

"Reliable sources say that the Death Eaters are planning an attack on one of the four Founders' villages," Moody called out.

A map shimmered behind him. The old man taped four locations with his wand and the hamlets of Godric's Hollow, Little Helga Near Hartford, and Rowenashire were bolded, as well as the larger city of Salisbury. Each was a community where Wizards and Muggles had lived side-by-side for centuries.

"We could assume that Salisbury would be safe, being Slytherin's old stomping ground," Mad-Eye continued. "We could, but we won't. Constant vigilance is the only way to win this war. Therefore the largest squadron will be dispatched to this area. Tonks, Jones, Fred and George, Doge and Mundungus you're with me to Salisbury.

"Shacklebolt, you have Godric's Hollow. Take Vance, Diggle and Jordan.

"Arthur, you have Rowenashire. I give you Aberforth, McGonagall, Podmore and Hagrid. Merlin help you."

There was a round of laughter and groans as the room commiserated with Arthur Weasley. Aberforth was taciturn on a good night and rarely went on missions. It said something about the intel that he was roused from the Hogshead in the first place. McGonagall was not easily led. However, the skill those two brought to bear evened out the skittish Podmore and wandless Hagrid.

"Lupin," Mad-Eye barked. "It's Little Helga for you with the young bucks. Bill, Dougal and Fergus, this is your chance to prove you are more than pretty faces."

Lupin smiled warmly at the young men. "Don't feel poorly, lads, there was a time when Moody called James, Sirius and I pretty faces too."

"Now, listen carefully," Mad-Eye continued. "If you encounter a Death Eater, do not play the hero. Heroes are just arseholes who end up dead at the end of the day. Send a Patronus and call reinforcements."

"Are we expecting a coordinated attack on all the villages?" Dougal called from the back of the room.

"Hmph, smarter than you look," groused Mad-Eye. "Intel says no. Voldermort is not in a position to bring that kind of attention to himself amongst the Muggle media yet. But we are going to be prepared for the worst. Constant Vigilance!"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Chapter 11 of _Pictures of You_ was hard to get started. I went through several intros before I wrote something I liked, and even that I was anxious about. Then I wrote the following scene intending to do another flashback, but it just never worked. Finally I settled for the characters speaking of this particular memory without actually using it. However, I like it well enough that I wanted to publish it separately.

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The Biscuit Memory—Outtake from Chapter 11 of _Pictures of You_

"All right, then, Mum is sick in bed," seventeen-year-old Fergus announced, bounding down the back stairs into the kitchen where his little brothers sat at the table. "So, you're in charge of the sprout, Ollie. I'll just be down the lane visiting Millie from the pub."

Oliver and Fergus had just arrived home for Christmas break the day before. Mum had been nursing a cold then, but in Mum-like fashion, refused to acknowledge any weakness. She had whipped up a big welcome home feast, set the boys to decorating the Christmas tree, harangued Fergus for the multiple letters home she'd received during term, and reminded Oliver that there was more to life than Quidditch and he'd better buckle down. All in all, a pretty typical day for Roberta Wood.

Oliver frowned, looking from his four-year-old brother to his older brother. "No way, Fergus, Mum did not leave me in charge. You are not leaving me to look after the squirt to go snog some girl."

"Snogging is not what I had in mind."

"What is snogging?" Alex asked between mouthfuls of scones.

"Snogging," Fergus pronounced with a grin, "is where you kiss a girl."

"Like Mummy?"

"No, definitely not like Mum," Fergus answered with a laugh.

"Why would you want to kiss a girl, Fergus?" Alex demanded, wiping his arm across his mouth. "Girls are gross!"

"Ah, you won't always think so," Fergus answered dreamily.

"Aye, I will too! I am never going to snog a girl."

Oliver cringed. He hoped Alex forgot that word before Mum recovered.

Fergus ruffled Alex's hair and retrieved his cloak from the hook by the door. It suddenly occurred to Oliver that Fergus was really planning to leave, the git. He looked at Alex in alarm. Oliver had never been left in charge of his little brother before and he was determined that this would not be the first time.

"Oi!" Oliver cried. "You can't leave us here."

"Well, I'm not taking you with me," Fergus replied easily.

Oliver stood up. He was almost as tall as Fergus now. "If you ditch us, I'll tell Mum."

Fergus narrowed his eyes, his hands twitching. "Are you really going to run to Mummy with tales while she's sick in bed?"

Oliver bristled, realizing that he was acting about eight. Dougal and Fergus were always taking the mickey about him being a tattletale.

"There is no way she would leave me in charge of Alex," Oliver insisted. He was calling his brother's bluff. Fergus would not chance Mum's ire to snog (or whatever) Millie-from-the-pub.

The brothers stared each other down. Finally, Fergus thrust his cloak back onto the hook with a scowl. He stomped across the kitchen and kicked the empty chair. He caught it before it clattered to the floor (that would have resulted in getting yelled at by their mother), twisted it around and straddled it with his arms folded over the back.

"Fine. Here I am, but don't expect me to do anything," he snarled. "You're in charge, Ollie."

Oliver gave his older brother a dirty look. He could already see the plan formulating in Fergus' head. He was planning to make Oliver's life as difficult as possible over the next eighteen hours. Maybe he should have just let Fergus go.

Alex, on the other hand, had a big, gap-toothed grin on his face.

"So, what do you want to do today, sprout?" Oliver asked with a sigh.

"I'm not a sprout, I'm big boy!" Alex declared, but then his shoulders slumped. "Mummy said we would make biscuits today."

Oliver regarded his little brother, leaning his arms on the table. This was the day Mum would start her Christmas baking, he'd watched her do it for years. She always started with lady fingers, thumbprints, and shortbread, but those were all well out of Oliver's abilities. However, she'd end the day with chocolate chip biscuits just for her laddies and that was something that Oliver did know how to make.

"I'll teach you how to make chocolate chip biscuits," Oliver offered. "You can surprise Mum."

Alex's eyes became even rounder with his excitement. "Yeah?"

"Sure," Oliver answered with a shrug. "What do you say, Fergus? Are you going to help out?"

"Nope," Fergus replied, annunciating the word unnecessarily. "It's all on you, Mummy Oliver."

"Come on, squirt," Oliver said, hoisting Alex off the chair. "Let's wash our hands. Mum always says it's important to have clean hands when baking."

They found the old ladder the boys used when helping out in the kitchen. Oliver tied one of Mum's aprons on and pranced around the kitchen for a moment. That had the desired effect of making Alex giggle. Even Fergus had to cover his mouth to avoid being caught smiling. Using his wand, Oliver shrank the other apron and put it on Alex as he wiggled all over the place.

Then, Oliver found the cookbook Mum used to teach them to bake. He explained the list of ingredients and the step-by-step instructions, even though he knew it would be a few more years before Mum started teaching Alex how to follow a recipe. Alex paid rapt attention to everything that came out of Oliver's mouth. The little boy even squeaked questions at their surly, older brother. Who, it turned out, was not immune to the four-year-old's charm.

"Okay, okay," Fergus said at last, heaving himself from his chair as if by great effort. "I guess I'll help out, since Mummy Oliver is likely to burn the biscuits if I don't."

"Don't listen to him, Alex," Oliver warned with a grin. "He just wants to sample the batter."

"No way, Fergus, no nicking the batter," Alex exclaimed, pinching off a piece of batter and popping it into his mouth.

Fergus loomed over Alex, fists propped on his hips, but his lips were twitching. "I'm the big brother, I set the rules."

"Nu-uh!" Alex argued, mimicking Fergus' stance except that he was perfectly serious. "Mummy Oliver is in charge, you said."

Oliver smirked at his older brother. "Yeah, Fergus, I'm in charge…you said!"

"Well, I changed my mind," Fergus said, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin.

"What are you?" Oliver demanded. "A girl?"

Alex fell into a fit of giggles that was soon joined by both of his big brothers.

After lunch, Fergus helped Alex arrange biscuits on one of Mum's dinner plates with the red acorn print, Oliver poured a glass of milk and it was all placed on a tray. Fergus surveyed it, then conjured a flower, plucked it in a bud vase and added it to the tray. Apparently satisfied, he nodded to his brothers and the three of them made their way upstairs to Mum's room.

Alex bounded into the master bedroom and onto their mother's bed. The older brothers followed at a more sedate pace. Roberta Wood lay in bed with her quilt pulled over her legs and a book laying open on her lap, her graying brown hair plaited over her shoulder. She smiled when her lads came into the room.

"What is this, then?" she asked.

"Alex baked you biscuits," Oliver answered, nudging his little brother in the back.

She cupped Alex's little face in her hands. "You did?"

"Oliver helped," Alex said, bouncing slightly on his knees.

"What about me, squirt?" Fergus demanded with a grin.

"Fergus ate the batter."

Everybody laughed at that, even Fergus. Oliver grabbed Alex off the bed, as Fergus placed the tray on the bed beside Mum. She fingered the flower, looked up at Fergus and gave him a wink. He shrugged, a rare blush coming to his cheeks.

"Eat, Mummy!" Alex ordered, a biscuit already in his hand.

They all ate the biscuits, Mum exclaiming what a good job Alex had done. The littlest Wood boy, nestled into his mother's side munching contently. The older boys lounged at the end of the bed, laughing and telling tales of Quidditch and Care of Magical Animals and Hagrid, keeping their Mum laughing and Alex in awe.

Finally, as the light grew dim in the room, Alex yawned and asked, "Mummy, do you and Daddy snog?"

Mum frowned, her eyes snapping to Fergus.

"Don't look at me," he protested, hitching a thumb in Oliver's direction. "He said it, not me!"

Mum's withering gaze shifted to Oliver. He gulped, then, "He was going to leave us to snog Millie-from-the-pub!"

"Tattletale!"

Fergus launched himself at Oliver. The two of them tumbled off the bed with a thud and a grunt. They were grappling on the floor, when they both went stiff as a board and Fergus flopped onto his back. Mum's wand was pointed at the older boys.

"We are going to learn another new word, love," Mum said to Alex. "'Heathen:' Meaning ill-mannered, brutish boys. Your brothers are heathens."

Alex giggled, peering over the side of the bed at his petrified older brothers. "Heathens!"


End file.
